


war paint

by fated_addiction



Series: history lessons [1]
Category: K-pop, Korean Actor RPF, Mamamoo, Real Person Fiction, SM Entertainment | SMTown, So Nyuh Shi Dae | Girls' Generation, 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: She does not believe in love at first sight. This is the last time.

Fun fact: Moonbyul hates when things get complicated. There's no going back from that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SO OKAY. THIS THING IS GOING TO BE NUTS.
> 
> No, but really. This is probably going to be some kind of four, five part series that has fondly grown into the AU of AUs or simply: all the things about AUs that I love. That made more sense in my head. I'm taking my time with this one and it'll definitely be updated, but I'll probably write other things in between too. I have most of it mapped out? Honestly, I'm just really excited to share.
> 
> Secondly, as always, this is dedicated to K because it still marvels me that I can text her and be like, "lol so okay CRAZY IDEA!" and she humors me to death. 
> 
> Onward, I guess!

-

 

 

 

At dinner, someone decides it’s a great idea to quote when _Harry met Sally_ and then ask Taeyeon how long they have been living together – you know, living together- _living together_ (spoilers: they’re not like that) because everyone ever seems to have this weird habit of assuming that Taeyeon dates half the people breathing around her.

“I was _drunk_ ,” Moonbyul deadpans. Taeyeon is flustered, glaring at her from across the table. She ignores her, of course. “I have these weird moments of brilliance when I’m drunk,” she says to the table, “like – maybe I should be an adult and remember that I can afford rent by myself on a cop’s salary! Byul-ah, if you get chicken and beer tonight, maybe Taeyeon-ssi will _finally_ put the toilet seat down.”

No one gets it. There is a round of awkward laughing; the subject changes and Moonbyul sighs into her beer, amused.

“Last dinner I told them that I was having gender reassignment surgery.”

She blinks.

“Then,” and a pretty girl sits next to her, beer in hand and leather jacket falling off her shoulders, “there was that time I told them that I had escaped the nunnery to fulfill a lifelong dream of opening an ice cream shop that sells only three flavors of ice cream, vanilla, chocolate, and chickpea.”

“Chickpea?”

“ _Chickpea_ ,” the girl smiles, laughing at her own joke, “– it helps with the digestive flow, gas and what not.”

Moonbyul snorts. “It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one that comes to these things and gets, like, super awkward.”

“Nah.” The girl’s eyes brighten. She smiles again and it’s almost overwhelming, digging quickly into the pit of Moonbyul’s stomach. She has butterflies; she hates herself for it. “You’re solo on the super awkward,” she quips, extending her hand. “Wheein,” she introduces herself lazily, and Moonbyul takes her hand, sort of wide-eyed. Wheein stays smiling. “I’m just here to torture Taeyeonie.”

Moonbyul will be the first to let you know: she sees a lot of horrible things when she works, the worst of people even, and it does something to you, seeing these things day in and day out, putting yourself in the front of it. But there’s the here and the _now_ , and right now, she stares at Wheein, forgets to let go of her hand, studies the creases in the other girl’s mouth as she laughs, again, distracted by something someone says. She doesn’t know how to handle looking at Wheein, just looking at her, taking in every crease and change in her expression, how she keeps glancing over to her. The knots are there, not her stomach but her throat, and she forgets words, you know, words that come together and structure a sentence. Maybe she says her name. Maybe she doesn’t. But it takes awhile for her to let go of Wheein and her hand.

She does not believe in love at first sight. 

This is the last time.

 

 

 

 

 

(The second time they meet, Wheein braids her hair without asking. This is going to happen a lot, Wheein doing things in her life without asking.

“You’re a cop,” she says, and this is their apartment, Taeyeon sitting in the middle of the living room surrounded by pencils and a mess of paper. “Have you been shot before?”

Moonbyul laughs and her face is hot. “You watch a lot of dramas, don’t you?” Her mouth purses and she reaches for the remote in front of her, turning the television to mute the volume of their conversation. She feels selfish. “Yes,” she says after awhile.

“That’s so scary!”

“Not that part,” she murmurs, and she meets Wheein’s gaze, holding it honestly. “Yeah, sure – it hurts… I think the scariest part is having it happen and being alone.”

Wheein’s eyes are large and watery. She pulls at Moonbyul’s hair and then leans in, her head dropping against her shoulder.

“I won’t let that happen anymore,” she says, and Moonbyul turns, watching her face flush and her gaze dart to the side.

Moonbyul smiles wistfully. “Don’t make those promises.”

That she means.)

 

 

 

 

 

There is nothing to say about how she met Taeyeon. Mutual friends. Boring, probably at a bar with a comment that when a little like, “Byul needs a roommate!” and Taeyeon shrugging coolly as she says, “Sure, I guess – I am on a budget.”

What she learns is pretty basic. There are a lot of people in and out of Taeyeon’s life. Some college. Some not. Some in the music industry – actually, most are in the music industry and that’s ridiculously intimidating. It becomes pretty clear that this is somewhere near a pity run and Moonbyul is okay with that. She’s practical like that. Bills on time. Bathroom clean. She’ll ignore the baby grand in the living room and Taeyeon seems to be okay with ignoring the gun safe in the closet.

Wheein isn’t on the lease.

“She’s my writing partner,” Taeyeon says at breakfast. Behind dark sunglasses, even. They agreed to have coffee. Moonbyul is going to work and Taeyeon is going back home. “We, uh…” Taeyeon frowns, picking at her eggs. “Did the landlord say that he’s going to send someone to fix the toilet?”

Moonbyul points her fork at Taeyeon. “You slept together,” she doesn’t guess. Her heart settles in her throat. “Which is why,” she adds, “you write really good love songs or whatever.”

“You’re pretty fixated on her,” Taeyeon mutters, looking away.

“ _You_ brought her up.”

“I didn’t want it to get weird! We live together and stuff.”

Valid point, she almost says. She reaches for her coffee instead. Moonbyul does not like complicated. It’s why she’s a good cop; she can cut through the _stuff_ because she has no patience for it, any of it, and it’s probably her downfall too because her patience hovers between thin and non-existent too.

“That’s true,” she manages. Calmly, even. “But I feel like –” Then she stops, studying Taeyeon curiously. “Are you still sleeping with her?”

Taeyeon chokes on her eggs.

“Since you don’t want it to get weird.” She throws Taeyeon’s words back at her. She feels a little smug, then hates herself for it. 

“No.” Taeyeon pushes her sunglasses over her hair. There are dark circles under her eyes. She looks suspiciously hung over. “We’re not sleeping together,” she answers. “Better for our writing – not that you need to know.”

Moonbyul lifts her hands up. “Whatever,” she replies and leaves it at that.

Inside though, she feels like she’s fighting her sixteen year old self – the world is new, strange and heavy with brightness. She has feelings and she hates herself for it. Her brain washes over the rest of breakfast; she thinks _wheein_ and her stupid smile.

Keep it cool. It should be her motto or something.

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re a stereotype.”

It’s weeks before she sees Wheein again. _Actual_ weeks. Until she shows up in the kitchen, eyes heavy with sleep and in one of Taeyeon’s t-shirts. Just a t-shirt.

Her voice scratches something as she fumbles for a water glass. “I don’t even want to ask why,” Moonbyul says and finally, finally shrugs out of her jacket. There is blood on the cuffs of the sleeves – hers, but no one needs to know that. “Also,” she manages, pretending to check her watch. “This is my kitchen, so… I can be a stereotype in my own kitchen too.”

Wheein pours two glasses of water. “Long night?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, huffing a little. Wheein takes the glass she was trying to use and replaces it with one of her own. Moonbyul shakes her head. “You?”

“I guess. Taeyeon gets in these weird moods when we write. Probably why we didn’t last long?” Wheein laughs at her own joke, grinning. She reaches forward, pushing lightly at Moonbyul’s shoulder. “Anyway, shouldn’t you sleep?”

“Shouldn’t _you_?”

The very idea of Taeyeon and Wheein sinks into her stomach. She hates that it gets to her so quickly. Taeyeon doesn’t talk about these things with her; or they do, drunk. A roommate as a drinking partner is a solid idea as it is – drinking partners take secrets all the way to the grave.

“Yah –”

Moonbyul shakes her head. “In a little while,” she says absently, drinking from her water glass. Her lips are wet. “It’s been a long week…” Her mouth opens and closes. She shakes her head again. “I can’t tell you,” she murmurs, looking up at Wheein underneath her bangs. “You need to sleep at night too.”

“You’re not making any sense.” Wheein pushes Moonbyul’s glass forward, motioning for her to drink too. “I watch a lot of dramas, you know.”

“Not the same thing.”

“Of course, it’s not.”

“We barely know each other.” There is this sharpness to her voice that she doesn’t mean. Her mouth dries and she presses her tongue against her teeth. “I wouldn’t do that to you either,” she adds, looking away. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would try and keep my job out of my home because this –”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wheein protests.

“We _barely_ know each other.”

“Then maybe we should,” Wheein says, and all Moonbyul can do is stare.

She leans over the kitchen counter too, half in Moonbyul’s space, half over the ledge, but just enough that her shirt pulls itself over her legs and thighs. Moonbyul feels her chest tighten and her heart start to panic. She watches because there is nothing she can bring herself to do to get out of this, whatever _this_ is. It’s just that Wheein’s fingers start to move, from the counter to the water and now her face, sliding along her mouth, then her jaw and softly, ever so softly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“It’s late.”

Moonbyul does not recognize her own voice.

“I’m a songwriter,” Wheein says. She smiles too brightly. The corners of her mouth crease and Moonbyul wants to touch them. “You know that I’m used to late hours,” Wheein says too. “You seem like the type to get bored if the only thing you hear is yourself.”

“You’re not human,” Moonbyul manages. Her mouth cracks a smile, then a surprised laugh. “Seriously though.”

Wheein shrugs. “Probably,” she says dryly, drawing back. Her feet hit the floor softly and she turns, ready to walk away. She stops, midway, and Moonbyul can only watch her, almost helplessly, as she turns back around.

If Wheein was pretty before, Moonbyul can only find her beautiful now. It’s a weird moment for her, but there’s Wheein, bright-eyed, makeup free and messy hair, long legs and a mess of things that knot into her memory, pulling her away from how heavy work is. She hates herself for these thoughts and pulls her fingers into her palms, her nails digging into her skin.

Wheein opens her mouth and closes it. She steps forward, then quickly, landing right in front of Moonbyul. She leans in, her mouth brushing over her forehead and she lingers, just enough where Moonbyul remembers how to breathe. She tenses, but doesn’t push and looks up as Wheein draws back, smiling.

“Get some sleep,” is all she says.

 

 

 

 

 

(The problem with all of this is simple:

Wheein comes in a pair with Taeyeon. “That’s all there is,” her roommate confesses. “We work together so much, we’re each other’s worst nightmares. It’s a good thing, I promise, that she lives on the other side of the city. She even says this to me a lot. We can go home separately and irritate each other from a distance.”

“You dated though,” she points out, and ignores the jealousy that laces itself through her voice. Taeyeon smirks and sips her beer. “So, you know –”

Alcohol is the easiest, maybe the laziest way to a confession. They drink a lot together. Taeyeon seems to be avoiding a lot in general. Work swims in Moonbyul’s brain and this is another way to avoid it.

“Maybe she likes you too,” is all Taeyeon says.)

 

 

 

 

 

The studio is attached to Wheein’s apartment. 

She has been there twice: once, to drop off Taeyeon’s keys, the second because Wheein called and said something like, “I heard you had a day off –” which leads to a weird discovery on how many instruments Wheein plays.

It’s raining the next time she is there. Confession: she doesn’t know how exactly a cab from the station to her apartment ends up being a cab from the station to _Wheein’s_ apartment, but she texts Taeyeon to let her know and receives no reply back from her.

Wheein is still waiting outside for her.

“What happened?” she asks, eyes panicked as she pays Moonbyul’s cab without asking. She launches herself at Moonbyul into a hug, pulling her closer. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did someone die? Tell me what to do – I don’t know anything about your job but I will try my best.” She doesn’t say things like _you’re scaring me_ which, somehow, makes Moonbyul feel hazy.

It’s been a long time since she’s come face to face with someone who’s cared this openly. Moonbyul feels guilty, staring at her with wide-eyes as Wheein touches her face, her shoulders, her arms and hands for any sort of phantom injuries. Her throat is tight. It burns as she shudders, stepping into the embrace because she doesn’t know what else to do and she _hates_ that.

“Just…” Her mouth buries itself against Wheein’s shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut. You’ll feel guilty tomorrow, she tells herself. “Can you just hold onto me? For just a second? I just need a second.”

There are fingers in her hair and they run through the strands shyly, slowly. They move back to her scalp and Wheein exhales, her mouth brushing against her ear.

“Have two,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

Moonbyul lets that happen once.

Selfish enough, right?

 

 

 

 

 

Taeyeon stops by the station. This is a normal occurrence. She wears large sunglasses and shoves a greasy paper bag onto her desk, taking a seat in the empty chair next to her.

“Want to go to an art opening?”

Moonbyul blinks. There is a mountain of paperwork around her. Her boots are caked with mud and she still smells like the mountains – a combination of windswept _whatever_ and death, she thinks.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she says dryly. “And take Wheein,” she says too and stabs her pen into the paper in front of her, trying to ignore how awful that tastes. She tries not to think about Wheein and her fingers in her hair.

“No.”

Taeyeon opens the bag between them. It’s a burger from her favorite shop near their apartment and she grabs a letter opener from her desk, cutting it in half. She offers Moonbyul half.

“She won’t go to these things with me anymore.” Taeyeon shrugs. Her mouth quirks and she shakes her head too. “Unless you’re there,” she says too.

“This is _messy_ –” Moonbyul catches herself before she blurts anything else out. Her face flushes and she kicks Taeyeon’s leg. “And anyways, it’s kind of incestuous?”

Taeyeon makes a face. “Only to you, weirdo.” She pokes Moonbyul’s head. “Unless you’re madly in love with me? Because then, sure, that would be weird.”

“Only when you pay your half of the rent every month,” Moonbyul mutters, smiling. She looks away, rubbing the back of her neck. You do need a break, she thinks. “Do I have to change? And not wear my work clothes?”

“You have to _shower_ ,” Taeyeon corrects.

“I’m terrible at these things… I get awkward and bored really fast. I don’t really get why you drag me to them anyway.”

Taeyeon pushes the burger half at her again, shrugging. Moonbyul takes a bite and sighs her agreement. This is the extent of their relationship; there is a lot of silence between the two of them, comfortable silence even. Their worlds do not connect and she thinks, if anything, that’s really why the two of them agree on these things. Space is space. Time is time. They respect those things, above all.

It’s a like a confession though, watching how easily certain things, people are starting to slip through the cracks and into those carefully constructed walls. It’s terrifying. It may seem superstitious even. She keeps very few people close to her, out of habit and with the nature of her job.

“She’s coming.”

Moonbyul is startled out of her head. Her cheeks warm again, caught.

“Wheein-ah,” Taeyeon repeats. “She’ll be there too. She’s friends with the artist. He’s really good. You might like him. He’s, well, interesting.”

“Probably not,” she mutters, looking away. Her paperwork spreads out underneath her hands. “You’re not really selling this to me either, by the way.”

Taeyeon remains even. “Thought Wheein would do it for you.”

Moonbyul lets herself get caught again. She’s tired, she reasons, enough to glare and flush back at the other woman. But this is always how it starts too: a nonchalant invitation, a casual drop of Wheein’s name, and suddenly, Moonbyul is leaving work early because she has to at least try and leave the apartment looking like a sane, normal human being.

She sighs first. Then she looks away, closing her eyes. Her fingers grope at her hip and catch her badge, sliding onto the cool metal.

“You need to start dating a real person,” she mutters. “That you can drag to these things. That knows how to talk about the difference between technique and subjectivity, or whatever it is you’re supposed to talk about at these things.”

“You just talked about it now.”

“You _know_ what I mean.” There’s an edge to Moonbyul’s voice. She half means it. “I go to museums because I _actually_ like to go to museums and galleries and see art and baseball games and have quiet time because I rarely get to do it. I always feel stupidly out of place when I go to these things with you and hate that I basically turn into this asshole. I don’t like to be judged – which you can’t tell me I don’t – because then I get awkward and then I drink and, look, I have to work tomorrow.”

“Ballgames? You need to not hide in the apartment.” Taeyeon is blunt and her sunglasses slide down her nose as she leans forward, pushing her elbow onto the desk. “You told me a long time ago that you’d need a little help from time to time. So this is me helping. Dragging you to an event that I get equally awkward at. I’m just different about how I go about it.”

“Ugh.” Moonbyul shakes her head, defeated. “I guess.”

“You’re coming.”

“You still need to start dating a real person. So you can take them along to these things,” Moonbyul sighs, reaching for a pen.

Taeyeon smiles a little, her mouth pursing into some strange version of a private joke. Her fingers push glasses back over her nose.

“I lost her along time ago,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

The skirt that she ends up wearing to the gallery is leather. Moonbyul feels awkward about an hour into the event, spills some of her plastic cup wine on it when she decides to sit and then gives up midway back into standing and wandering the gallery again. This isn’t the worst, she tells herself. 

She lost Taeyeon about twenty minutes ago too. There is a lot of corners, a mess of crowds and paintings digging into the high ceilings. It’s an overwhelming break from work; she’s hit on twice, and it confuses her, which forces her to say awkward things like, “I’ve sworn off humanity though!” which ultimately backfires because someone thinks she’s making a social commentary about the paintings. That’s why there’s an open bar, she tells herself.

Confession: she remembers the time that she could have done all of this, be a part of this environment. High school seems like a deep dark secret though and remember the adult choices she had to make, between semi-raising her siblings and herself, isn’t a place she likes to. She doesn’t remember music well enough to miss it and maybe, maybe this is why she humors Taeyeon. Wheein – no, she thinks, that’s completely different.

Wheein, however, is nowhere to be found.

Moonbyul ends up consoling herself with another plastic cup of wine, her third or fourth of the night, a signal that it’s ultimately going to get longer. She can barely convince herself to make another round of the room, finding the bathroom and stumbling inside because she is tipsy and tired and running on about four hours of sleep.

“What are you doing?”

The bathroom is empty and she greets her reflection with a frown. She pushes her cup onto the countertop next to the sink.

“You could be home,” she tells herself. “In bed or thinking about being in bed.” Her nose wrinkles and then she covers her face with a hand. “You’re getting old.”

It takes her a minute to gather herself; then she reaches into one of her pockets to pull out her phone. She looks for Wheein’s number. She’s bored, she thinks. “I’m bored,” she tries out loud, trying to practice.

“Hello?”

Moonbyul blinks. She pulls the phone away from her ear, looking down at the caller id. She scoffs. _NEIGHBORHOOD EONNI J_.

“Yah,” Jessica starts and her voice sounds so strange on the other line. They haven’t talked in weeks; case loads and hospitals, of course. “You calling me at this time usually means that you’re drunk, did something you regret, are _actually_ in jail, confessed to Soojungie again, and –”

Moonbyul wrinkles her nose. “I did nothing. Soojung needs to stop telling that stupid story – it happened _once_. And it’s white wine. I just feel –”

“Drunk?”

“I am _not_ a lightweight.”

There is a snort. Moonbyul eases her shoulders and turns, facing away from the mirror and staring into the bathroom stalls.

“I’m at an art thing,” she confesses, sighing. “There are crowds and I haven’t slept because I work like crazy and –”

“There’s a pretty girl?” Jessica quips, amused.

“ _Eonni_.”

Jessica is four years older than she is, but they were attached to each other ever since she can remember. They grew up in the same neighborhood. Went to the same school. Were older faster and before they needed to be. For Moonbyul, Jessica is ageless and a part of her life that still makes sense.

She sighs still. “I’m at a gallery opening. My roommate dragged me along.”

“The writer?”

“Yeah. She’s not here though… or yet. I don’t know.” She closes her eyes, rubbing her temples. “White wine is like water,” she mutters, “and there’s some on my skirt –”

“Who are you trying to impress?” Jessica asks, amused. “The writer?”

“The writer’s friend… ex-girlfriend.” Jessica laughs and Moonbyul feels her face burn a little. She drags her hand away from her face, over her mouth. “It’s exactly how it sounds,” she adds. “The writer’s friend is also a writer.”

“Wait, so it’s the writer?” Jessica snorts. “I’m confused.”

“Forget it,” Moonbyul says dryly. “You’ll get a headache too.”

“Do you need an excuse?” Jessica still asks and it’s like they’re in high school again, her voice dropping into that familiar, gentle tone. _Call me if you need an out_. Moonbyul breathes a little, listening to the sounds on the other line: a disembodied voice on a speaker, a couple of sirens – she must still be at the hospital, Moonbyul thinks.

“I always need an excuse.” She sighs, smiling a little. “You must be busy.”

Jessica laughs. “Someone is always sick, Byul-ah.” Her voice feels warm from the other end. “You can always go to my place. Soojungie is in Paris for the month visiting her friend Victoria, I think? I can’t remember.”

“Sounds like Soojung.” Moonbyul feels her shoulders start to ease. “Remember to stick to beer and hard liquor. And fried food.”

“I get off in an hour?”

“Perfect,” she answers, and suddenly, she feels more like herself than she has all night.

When they hang up, she manages to turn back around and stare at herself in the mirror. Her mouth purses. She adjusts the sleeves of her shirt, rolling the cuffs midway up her forearms. A little water to her face. She feels some of her headache start to die down and starts repeating a mantra: be polite, go have something to eat, and go to bed. It feels like a declaration of bravery. An hour is just enough time, she tells herself.

She turns to leave the bathroom, her hand pressing against the door, only to be met with some resistance. The door jerks backwards, then forwards, and really, Moonbyul is beyond over the night, so she lets the door go and flies up. There is a soft cry and stumble and when she catches the door, she finds herself looking down at Wheein, on the floor, heels and dress all a mess.

Wheein blinks. Moonbyul blinks back. Then, her heart launches itself into her throat.

“Hi.”

Wheein laughs and stumbles into standing. It’s instinctive and Moonbyul steps forward, gathering her together to help steady her balance, holding Wheein by her wrists. Concern and guilt write themselves all over her expression and Wheein softens, smiling brightly as she looks up at her.

“I’m fine,” she says before Moonbyul can say anything. “I was coming to look for you,” she says too. “But Taeyeon said that she lost you around the bar. I thought the next logical place would be the bathroom. Leather is a good look for you.”

Moonbyul blushes. She looks everywhere but Wheein’s face, her eyes lingering over her legs underneath the gauzy material of her skirt.

“I’m trying to escape,” she admits.

“Where?”

For the record, the invitation that launches itself out of her mouth makes sense – in her head, for a brief, sudden period. Why not invite her to snacks with Jessica? Wheein meeting the important people in her life is logical. She blanches though, biting her lip, but the words just happen anyway.

“A friend of mine gets off at work,” she mumbles. “I can’t eat just wine and cheese for the rest of my night.” Her boots shuffle forward. “Want to come?”

Wheein beams, her expression brilliant.

“Duh.” Their fingers lace together and she drags Moonbyul forward. “Let’s grab my purse and Kim Taeyeon. She deserves to smell like fried food.”

Her hand is warm. That’s all she can think about. Her hand is warm and Wheein is leading, dragging her back through the crowd.

It makes sense; this kind of regret.

 

 

 

 

 

The restaurant sits between the hospital and the apartment. The three of them look a little out of place, considering the array of emergency personal that jumps in and out of the sidewalks, wandering to and from the hospital. Moonbyul still feels much more comfortable than she did at the gallery; it’s less about being in a scene than existing as yourself, something she can do.

“This place is cute,” Wheein says and sits across from her. Taeyeon joins her at the window and they leave the spot next to Moonbyul open for Jessica. “I didn’t know that this was here.”

Moonbyul shrugs. “It’s close to the hospital,” is what she says and forgets that she hasn’t really said anything to the two other women about Jessica. “We’re meeting my best friend,” she says casually, watching as Wheein’s eyes bright and widen, her mouth twisting into a nervous smile. “She’s the head of the Emergency Medicine department. It’s just coincidentally that we get to catch her.”

“So we definitely should order food,” Wheein says, glancing at Taeyeon. They share a glance; Moonbyul’s stomach knots together. “You should pay too,” Wheein teases Taeyeon. “Since you dragged poor Byul-ah to that show. That wasn’t the way to get her to come to one of our shows.”

“You’re having a show?”

Taeyeon flushes, shrugging. “Yeah,” she says and her hair falls a little into her eyes. It’s lavender now and she wonders how much she’s really missed in the last couple of days. “We wrote a couple of songs and kept them… to see how they do.”

“We’re starting a temporary band,” Wheein says dryly.

Moonbyul smiles warmly. She kicks Taeyeon under the table, but manages to reach over to Wheein without thinking, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Congrats,” she says, and Wheein beams, blushing. Taeyeon smiles next to her, but snorts and looks back to the window.

“You should come.”

Moonbyul nods. “I promise I’ll try,” and she’s serious, if only because the situation seems a little more serious. She knows nothing about the work that the two of them do, beyond the parties and famous friends that she’s only had brief contact with – nothing to remember, but enough to be intimidating.

“You should do more than try,” Wheein argues. “I’ll come and bring you myself.”

But it’s then, too, that she spots Jessica entering the restaurant.

Over the phone, Jessica is always a pile of memories that takes Moonbyul to a safe headspace. They’ve been friends for so long, shipped to different parts of the world and back, that hearing each other’s voices became something on the scale of like hearing their families’ voice. In person, however, Jessica is surreal.

Moonbyul can’t help but break into a brilliant smile, standing to greet Jessica as if it’s been years since she’s seen here and not weeks. The other woman returns her smile, meeting her halfway for a hug.

“You don’t look half-bad,” Jessica teases, and she’s relaxed, beautiful even wearing a pair of hospital scrubs and a sweater. Her hair is falling out of a loose braid. “I’m under-dressed,” she manages, peering over Moonbyul’s shoulder and smiling at Wheein.

“You’re crazy,” Moonbyul scoffs.

Jessica ignores her, offering her hand to Wheein. “So you’re the pretty girl,” she says, warmly even, and Wheein looks sort of stunned. “I’ve heard a little bit about you – the writer, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Wheein breathes, awed and maybe confused, and then she stands, offering her hand to greet Jessica. She steals a glance at Moonbyul and Moonbyul has no idea how to look at her. Her face feels like it’s on fire though. “I, um – sorry. Byul is kind of a mystery to me, so it’s nice to meet someone that knows her well. I have, like, well –” Wheein laughs nervously. “Questions?”

Jessica grins. “I can definitely give you answers.”

It isn’t then until everyone notices Taeyeon, or Taeyeon’s lack of a reaction. It happens slowly: Wheein turns and says something like _this is my writing partner – we’re songwriters_ – and Jessica freezes, mid-greeting, because Taeyeon is staring back at her, wide-eyed, confused, dismayed and a whole lot of things that Moonbyul has never seen on the other woman’s face before. There is a change in the air of the room. It becomes heavier and smaller and for the first time, if anything, she does not know how to break the tension, awkwardly or otherwise.

Taeyeon is the first to finally move. She clears her throat, offers an awkward smile, and presses her hands flat on the table as if she were going to stand.

“It’s been awhile,” she greets.

Jessica’s expression clears into unreadable. “A long time,” she agrees.

“You’re a doctor.” Taeyeon’s voice trembles. Just slightly. Instinctively, Moonbyul moves to Jessica’s side. “Good,” Taeyeon manages. “That’s good.”

Jessica shrugs delicately. “You shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’m not,” Taeyeon answers. Her hands draw back and both Wheein and Moonbyul are frozen, watching in fascination. “You were always good with people,” Taeyeon says. “Better than I was…”

Moonbyul pulls at the first direction that emerges, looking to Jessica, then Taeyeon, and ignoring her head’s urge to start spinning. Her mouth opens and closes.

“We dated a long time ago,” Jessica answers the silence, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She sighs a little, shaking her head. 

“The first love song I ever wrote was about her.” Taeyeon’s voice never trembles. The words are sharp enough to make Wheein wince and Moonbyul swallow. Taeyeon grabs onto a shaky smile though. “This is kind of weird,” she admits.

Jessica frowns. 

The food chooses this moment to arrive, the waitress having no idea or interest in what has started to unfold. Jessica remains planted at Moonbyul’s side. Wheein, on the other hand, stays seated and caught, glancing at Taeyeon, then Moonbyul, and then Taeyeon again.

“Should we sit?” Moonbyul asks gently, looking to Wheein for something, anything. The other woman shakes her head helplessly. “You have to eat something… and you know, cheese and wine isn’t exactly the best for me to go to bed on.”

They are saved by Jessica’s pager, a shrill ring pushing off of her hip and into the space between the four of them. She sighs and glances at the number.

“I have to get back,” she murmurs. She finally meets Moonbyul’s worried gaze, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “I have some things I need to deal with still, apparently.” Jessica manages a soft smile for Wheein too. “We’ll have to try doing this again,” she adds, bowing her head. “I’m sorry I won’t have a chance to tell you embarrassing stories about Byul-ah tonight. We should try again sometime.”

Moonbyul feels her ears start to ring and looks over at Taeyeon, who is half-frozen, more startled and fidgeting like she doesn’t know what to do or say. She watches too as both Taeyeon and Jessica share a look – it’s small, quick, and endlessly painful for whatever reason, watching Taeyeon watch Jessica turn to leave. Out of instinct, Moonbyul searches her brain for any mention of Taeyeon in Jessica’s endless stories about her life and what not, but cannot find a name. The truth is Jessica has always been quiet when it comes to dating, ruthlessly private even to the people that she loves.

Taeyeon pushes back from her seat, standing abruptly. She looks to both Moonbyul and Wheein, her mouth thinning into a line.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and ends up brushing past them both, out the door and outside. It goes unspoken though; they know she won’t.

 

 

 

 

 

They buy ice cream. Wheein carries half the food in a large takeout bag, swinging it back and forth as they walk through the park.

“I feel guilty,” Moonbyul mumbles finally. She bites into her ice cream and sighs. “It just made sense… introducing you and Taeyeon.”

Wheein loops their arms together. “You didn’t know,” she murmurs. She laughs a little too. “ _I_ didn’t know. I mean – honestly, I’m not surprised? She’s always been pretty… well, intensely protective of their relationship. When she gets drunk, she always calls it _the one_. So… I don’t know. I just know that it was mutual? I don’t even know if I should believe that.” Wheein laughs a little. Nervously, maybe. “This is weird.”

“And I always thought our triangle thing was weird.”

Wheein bursts into laughter. It’s an abrupt sound, but light and she nearly stumbles forward, catching both the food and the ice cream. They find a bench and she sits first, her skirt fanning out from underneath her. Her cheeks are flushed and Moonbyul feels like a total idiot, staring at her nearly unapologetically.

“You’re an idiot,” she says. “Is that why –”

“Can you blame me?” Moonbyul mutters. “And now,” she waves a hand. “I’m on this weird pseudo-date with my roommate’s ex-girlfriend – meanwhile, my roommate is the ex- _whatever_ of my best friend from growing up who she _never talked about_.” She sits next to Wheein, putting her ice cream on the bench too. She’s angry. She’s not angry. Wheein has always been Taeyeon’s and Jessica – Jessica belongs on her side. Her head is spinning. “I’m also wearing a skirt that I dropped wine on, haven’t had real food today, and I think my brain is probably going to explode at any second because the wine is never, ever going to leave my system.”

Wheein softens. She reaches over, brushing her fingers over Moonbyul’s face. She jerks back, a little and mostly out of confusion. Wheein’s face falls and she looks away.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

Moonbyul shakes her head. “I am,” she manages, and she’s not reaching over, not like she wants to. She awkwardly knocks her knee into Wheein’s. “I’m just overwhelmed,” she says too. “And wish that this wasn’t weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“But it _is_.”

“You’re crazy –” Wheein stops, staring at her. Disappointment writes itself into her face and something sinks between them.

This is called panic. Moonbyul feels her brain start to pull it apart. Everything is too sudden, too close, and if anything, they haven’t really existed whatever weird triangle this might be. Square, she tells herself. 

“I don’t know you,” she says quietly, swallowing. “I know you as a part of Taeyeon’s life. I get jealous when I think about it –” She laughs a little and it hits the back of her throat. It feels a little like a confession. “But you exist in this world that I don’t understand and come into occasionally, feeling mostly out of place and confused. It sucks because I spend a lot of time thinking about stupid, simple things like kissing you, like wanting to kiss you, and when the next time I’m going to see you is. I think that’s why I make the effort to try and understand… because maybe I connect in that way to you too. I hate that I don’t know you, but I live with someone who does, who saw a wonderful part of you that I can’t have and when I do get close to it – poof! Then you’re gone.”

Moonbyul turns her head, rubbing her eyes.

“I need stability,” she continues, her mouth thinning. “I need stability and someone to understand that there are days that are going to bad and then pretty bad –”

“ _This isn’t a pity party_ _!_ ”

Wheein stands and drops the bag. She stumbles again too, her ankle kicking out slightly. Her eyes are bright, wildly angry and she stomps her foot into the ground, staring at Moonbyul.

“I won’t let you do this. And by the way – all you’ve ever had to do was ask. All you’ve ever had to do is say hey, wanna go to dinner? Let’s have coffee? Or even I had a really bad day and I don’t want to talk about it, but you could sit with me. Because I would. I would do that. I would come and sit with you and hold your hand and tell you that it’s going to be okay because that’s what I’ve wanted to do. _Me_ –”

She stops, mid-rant, and just drops herself in front of Moonbyul, facing her cheeks with her palms and kissing her.

In all the times she’s imagined this, shaped whatever _this_ was going to be. She forgets everything though: Wheein’s mouth is soft, slipping, and she grabs it back with her mouth, her fingers sinking into her hair as she pulls her back against her knees. She kisses her and stops thinking about kissing her, dragging her teeth into her lip, pushing her tongue into her mouth and lapping at how sweet Wheein isn’t supposed to taste. Her head is spinning and she’s breathing, she swears, because of the other woman. When she pulls herself up, her arm slides around her waist and all of this is selfish, kissing Wheein like she needs her to breathe.

The moment quiets. It doesn’t matter who steps back first. Moonbyul’s eyes are open; Wheein’s eyes remain close. Her chest rises and falls and Moonbyul remembers her hand, drawing back slightly – just enough.

“You should come.”

This feels like a goodbye and Moonbyul pushes a hand over her chest, feeling it tighten. She can’t think straight.

“Come?” she manages and it’s hard.

“To the show,” Wheein says, grabbing the takeout bag. “It’s nothing too crazy.” She stops, brushing her fingers against her lips and Moonbyul follows with hers. Stop her, she tells herself. Stop her.

Moonbyul only finds her voice. “I’ll try,” she says.

This is not the first time she watches her go.

Habits are hard to break.

 

 

 

 

 

Taeyeon is up when she gets back home. 

There are two six packs of beer and a plate of tacos from the convenience store, greasy and colored with weird cheese. It’s standard, you know. Food feels like a conversation that they are no going to have as it is. Moonbyul’s eyes are rimmed in red and she kicks off her heels, moving into the kitchen and stopping right in front of the counter space, reaching for one of the tacos. 

“I should have something to say to you.”

“Probably,” Taeyeon agrees, reaching for a beer. She opens two and slides a bottle across the counter. “I’ve got two hours on you – I’ve been trying to rationalize this for most of the night.”

The beer washes down the rest of the taco in her throat. Moonbyul cringes and rubs her eyes, settling against the counter with her back turned to Taeyeon.

“Did you tell me it was Jessica?”

There’s a scoff.

“We get drunk together weekly,” Moonbyul mutters. “Did I just not listen?”

“I let you talk about work,” Taeyeon says, quietly even, and it’s a reminder of how comfortable they are in not addressing the nature of their relationship beyond living together as roommates. It’s totally adult, Moonbyul said at the beginning. It’s just now there’s this thing called loyalty.

Moonbyul turns her head. “Work is different,” she manages. “You let me drone on about… well, you know.”

Taeyeon laughs and it’s hard to swallow, the sound. She moves around the counter, coming to stand next to Moonbyul. She extends her hand, beer trapped against her palm, and pushes it against Moonbyul’s bottle too.

“We’re a pair, huh?”

“I can barely wrap my head around any of this.”

“Me too.” Taeyeon sighs. Her gaze phases into something entirely different, wistful even and it’s just a little surreal watching her unfold, even slightly, right in front of her. “Whatever happened between me and Wheein is over, has been over for a long time, and is nothing but positive and healthy in a working relationship and friendship. And anyway, I see the way she looks at you…”

It’s hard to put into words. Moonbyul stumbles through a list of them in her head, transporting briefly to earlier and _Wheein_. Her fingers touch her mouth and her lips are wet with the beer. She swears she smells a little of the park and the back of her neck is cool to touch.

“We need to exist outside you and her and you and me.” It’s as gentle as Moonbyul is going to be. She pushes her bottle into Taeyeon’s again. “I think… it’s safe to say that’s what has to happen. If anything is going to happen.”

There is too much going on behind her words and her head is a mess. Her mouth opens and closes and it’s sobering, even thinking about the whole night. Somewhere behind her, her phone rings. The sound is muffled in her jacket and it’s work, she thinks, _thankgodofcourse_ , it’s work. She pushes her bottle back onto the counter and doesn’t press more – this is why it’s easier to talk to Taeyeon. She can’t even think about that.

The routine remains simple though: she disappears into her bedroom, on the other side of the baby grand, and reemerges in jeans and a sweatshirt, fingers loose around her gun and carrying strap. Her mouth twists when Taeyeon glances over at her, then reaches over to hand her keys as she passes by.

“Are you coming to the concert?”

Moonbyul looks away. “I don’t know,” she says. This isn’t a lie.

 

 

 

 

 

Jessica leaves her a voicemail.

“She’s pretty,” it says simply, and there are no apologies, just warmth and honesty. Her voice turns serious. “You have to do what you need to do – and if you like this girl, then who cares what anyone else thinks? Or who dated who? If anything, it makes things a little interesting, you know?”

She does not say _don’t think about Taeyeon or me_.

 

 

 

 

 

There are a lot of reasons why Moonbyul became a cop. 

She has never cared to list any of them, keeps it simple and sticks with responses like, “I wanted to help people…” or “I just happened to be good at this, I guess.” Homicide is a natural progression that comes after years of working in the drug unit and some more undercover. Her strength has always been people, but people from a distance – observations save lives, after all.

The night of the concert, she comes home to an empty apartment and a pair of tickets sitting on the piano. Her current case is on the news, has been for the last week or so. She hasn’t been home in days because _all hands on deck_ or whatever weird catchphrase the news wants to say and it’ll probably take weeks before she comes down from all the things that she’s seen, between children and adults and otherwise. This is the hard part: she doesn’t know how to filter this piece of her life into rest of her life, forward and in front of the people that she cares about it.

Moonbyul calls Wheein and gets a voicemail. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, holding onto her keys. “I want to go… and we should probably talk.” She laughs nervously. “Maybe start over? Maybe actually go out on a date. There’s a million things I want to say to you but I don’t really now where to start… that’s crazy right?”

Wheein’s voicemail cuts through. “To proceed with the voicemail, please press –”

Her fingers hover the _one_. Text, she thinks. She should text. The concert is too far from the station. She thinks about it though, goes to her room and changes her shirt, cell phone in hand as her fingers walk her through an apology that she only half means.

“ _Damn it_ ,” she sighs, presses send, and gets a call to come back to the station.

It haunts her brain: Wheein’s face, Wheein’s mouth, and the number of apologies she’s thought of so far. It feels impossible anyway, thinking about how many times she could go and say she’s sorry. She wonders if there is anyway back from this; things are just awkward and this is the first time she hates herself for it.

When she gets outside though, the air is cool and she struggles with her jacket, trying to put it on and find her keys. In the distance, tires squeal and screech, the sound of an engine crackling in the air.

“Watch out!”

Moonbyul will not remember what happens first. Her vision cracks; there is Taeyeon in the distance, Wheein starting to run to her. Her jacket is half on when her shoulders snap back and her face freezes in confusion.

Everything starts to slow down. The space around her. She sees a car pass, headlights pressing into her face. There is a scream. It’s not her, it doesn’t feel like her; her throat is heavy and tight. The pain is distant and it starts in her throat, walks down to her stomach and then explodes somewhere in her chest. Her body is walking itself into moving. She doesn’t understand. She squints and starts to shudder, her knees buckling forward as she drops into the sidewalk, her hand barely catching the pavement. Her palms scrape forward and her skin breaks as she slowly lowers herself to the ground. It’s so strange, infinitely strange as she is aware of what is happening to her body.

Things will begin to shut down and her mouth starts to move as her vision blurs. You should’ve called, she thinks.

There is a bullet in her chest.


End file.
